


Lumière Darling

by iamslytherlocked



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamslytherlocked/pseuds/iamslytherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snowstorm ruins Enjolras' Valentine's Day plans so Grantaire and Enjolras make do with something else instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lumière Darling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missandrogyny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/gifts).



> Prompt is "the grossest, stupidest, fluffiest, most cliche valentine's day date ever. enjolras plans it. grantaire laughs at it." 
> 
> Well, I sort of did that. Sort of.
> 
> Beta-ed by [ashley](http://liquorbeforebeeryouareadeer.tumblr.com/) yet again who made sense of my convoluted sentences and made this readable.

Enjolras glares at the blizzard whipping up a storm outside of his apartment. He has seated himself stubbornly at the window seat, cheek pressed up against the cold glass. The cold and empty roads opposite his apartment are already covered in a thick layer of snow, and the cars parked outside are buried. Courfeyrac once said his glare is strong enough to melt ten mountains. These are one of the rare moments he wishes Courfeyrac were right. He hopes badly that he can somehow make the snow outside retreat back into the clouds and never come back. Or at least, come back tomorrow. Any other day will be good, just not today.

The snow refuses to leave despite his best efforts, so Enjolras continues glaring daggers into the white nothingness. That is, until he feels warmth breathing down his shoulder and two strong arms wrap around his middle. It tickles, but it’s pleasant. He pretends he does not melt into the embrace, but lets out a little sigh anyway. Black curls tickle his ear and sensitive as he is, Enjolras shivers.

Grantaire cuddles up behind him and digs his sharp chin into Enjolras’ shoulder. “Hey, look it’s okay,” Grantaire comforts, running light, relaxed fingers over his hip. “We’ll just spend the day inside. It’s alright.”

Visibly deflating in disappointment, Enjolras shifts to face Grantaire. There is a lazy smile playing at Grantaire’s lips, his eyes glinting with fondness and amusement. He rests his arm lightly across Enjolras’ thigh. 

Enjolras doesn’t look Grantaire in the eye. He plays with his own fingers, and mutters “I just had so much planned.” 

He looks up anyway. The smile on Grantaire’s face widens as he tugs Enjolras onto his lap. His hand rises to play with a loose curl of hair at Enjolras’ cheek. “Of course you did.” 

Enjolras pulls his arms up around Grantaire’s neck, even though his waist is starting to feel strained being twisted on his side. Burying his nose into Grantaire’s shoulder, he mutters softly, “I had a nice dinner reservation at your favourite Italian restaurant and everything. With stupid flowers, and a violinist and I even paid off Courfeyrac so he wouldn’t tease us. We were going to have a fancy evening and you were going to look all good in a tight, gorgeous suit and then afterward we were going to come home together. I was going to ply you with the best wine I’ve ever stolen from my parents. and we were going to drink and argue over Freud or Descartes or cats or anything really. Then I was going to peel you out of your suit and we were going to do things that will make the church cry. And then after the frankly fabulous sex we were going to have, we would have curled up in my bed, and we were going to cuddle like kittens and I was going to fall asleep in your arms so that I can wake up to your eyes and tell you I love you.”

Enjolras realises how absolutely ridiculous he sounds, and he reddens furiously. He buries himself further into Grantaire’s shoulder. After all, his friends used to make casual jokes about how he will not even recognise romance even when it stabs him in the face. A year ago he had viciously snubbed Marius for his relentless musing over Cosette. Now he’s sitting here on Valentine’s day, hugging the amazing boyfriend he would never have seen himself having till now, spouting the cheesiest things. Things he will have been horrified to hear himself say in the past. Things he will have condemned himself to say in the past, and probably have laughed about. Now these words are just spilling out of him as easily as his speeches would at the front of rallies, and this shocks him.

Despite the burgeoning feeling of horror and embarrassment in his chest, he can’t help but feel unbearably warm and fuzzy. After all, he had meant every word and more. Cliche as it is, he had wanted to spend a nice romantic evening with Grantaire. Where everything was in the right place, and all his plans went along smoothly. Something perfect, something that they will remember forever as one of the best nights they ever had. Something they will look back on years into the relationship, even when they’re married. (Yes, Enjolras has thought about that). It is their first Valentine’s, and Enjolras had wanted it to go completely splendid and superb.

But then the fucking snowstorm had to go and happen. 

Enjolras feels the chuckle welling up in Grantaire’s chest before he hears it. A gentle hand strokes his back as Grantaire starts laughing and he pulls back to continue laughing. He raises a hand to scrub at Grantaire’s in amusement, digging his palm into eyes as he continues to snigger. He tilts his head back in laughter, and Enjolras can’t help but admire.. The blonde man shifts on his lap, adjusting himself, looking more and more disgruntled by the minute. 

“R, stop laughing.” Enjolras says, nudging hard at Grantaire’s chest.

The chuckling erupts into loud guffaws and now Enjolras just feels like crawling into a hole and dying from embarrassment. 

Finally, the laughs trickle down into silent heaves, and Grantaire wipes at his eyes, looking pained. Enjolras stares grumpily at him. He feels tiny on his lap, even though he is almost a head taller than Grantaire. He folds his arms and looks away, half contemplating whether he should just climb right off and spitefully punish Grantaire to a night on the couch for being such an insensitive prick. Just because he said stuff Jehan will probably cry and write poems about for months. Honestly.

Just as Enjolras attempts to get off, the exuberant grin on Grantaire’s face fades away, and is replaced with an easy smile that reaches his eyes. His shaking body stills, the last of the laughter dying off, instead replaced a gentleness in his actions. Grantaire lays a hand on his knee to stop Enjolras’ departure, another hand is brought up to caress delicately at Enjolras’ cheek. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he acquises, not sounding sorry at all. “Don’t go.”

“You were mocking me,” He replies. He feels childish saying that. Unable to stop himself, he leans into Grantaire’s touch. “I should definitely go.”

Grantaire allows his hands to curl into Enjolras’ hair. “You were being adorable and I wasn’t making fun of you, I was just laughing because you’re just too cute. I couldn’t help it, I swear. I should have filmed it for photographic evidence. That Enjolras the righteous, leader of a bunch of hardy revolutionaries can be such a sap.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras whines, feeling out of control and wired up. He can’t put it in words. Words that usually come so easily now feel harder to grasp. All he can think, see and feel, is Grantaire, Grantaire and more Grantaire. His hands are all over his waist and his back and his legs. His thighs are curled up underneath his own. His throat is still bare from leaning back just now. Either all five of his senses are simultaneously malfunctioning, or his brain has just decided to shut itself off upon prolonged contact with Grantaire. Or he can just be stupidly distracted by Grantaire’s existence. 

Grantaire pushes himself up with an arm to meet Enjolras, foreheads leaning against each other, noses bumping just slightly. Beautiful blue eyes that never cease to amaze him gaze into his own, like they contain the meaning of life. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Grantaire whispers, a palm on the back on his neck. Enjolras closes his eyes. Their breaths fall in tandem. “You’re outrageous and preposterous and that is so cliche even for you but it’s you and I will never even have thought of you wanting this in the first place.”

Enjolras jerks back abruptly. “If this is about-”

He does not even finish his sentence before Grantaire tugs him back down again, this time to shush him with a quick kiss. 

“No, it’s just, you know, Valentine’s. You. They don’t mix.” He says when he pulls away from the kiss.

“Well, they do now,” Enjolras replies petulantly, laying his hands on Grantaire’s waist. “I love you, and I want to do everything and anything I can for you and Valentine’s is almost a prerequisite. I know you don’t expect anything of me, so this is exactly why I wanted to do this. We never do anything really special so I just wanted you to have an evening you can remember.”

Joy and adoration dance in Grantaire’s eyes, and they light up like constellations. He opens and close his mouth again and again, as if in shock, before he settles with a pleasurable sigh. “Having you here is already a gift more special than anything else I could ever want.”

He leans back in, and relaxes his arms around his hip, and his lips meet Enjolras’ just so. Soft, shy and warm, it is chaste and similar to the first night when Enjolras had blurted out his attraction to Grantaire. It makes his stomach flutter with nerves and excitement. He feels nothing but Grantaire’s solid presence around him. It’s the most familiar thing he can ever need.

Just as Enjolras is about to deepen the kiss, he feels Grantaire pull back and he makes a small whining noise at the back of his throat in protest. Grantaire merely chuckles, lays a small peck on his nose before leading him out of the window seat to stand in the middle of the living room. It’s not a very spacious place; it can barely fit the rest of the amis when they come over for movie nights. It came with the apartment, and Enjolras couldn’t be bothered to find a large space, not when this one had such an ideal location in the city centre for a good price. Despite the size, they still like to come over. They claim it’s because he has the best sound system out of all of them. Combeferre thinks otherwise. He tells him they are all just stupidly codependent and like to be all cosied up and squished against each other.

“But I’m never going to stop exploiting your surround sound,” says Grantaire, as he pads over to the stereo to fiddle at something in his hands. Enjolras feels a little abandoned in the middle of the carpet, sock clad feet fidgeting left to right in impatience. 

The lilting sound of guitar strings pipe up and Grantaire straightens with the cheekiest look on his face. He does not take very long to cross back over to Enjolras who perks up when he recognises the singer’s soulful voice.

“Ed Sheeran?” He asks, sounding satisfied and proud of his himself.

Grantaire nods as he wraps his arms around Enjolras’ neck, their chests pressed lightly against each other. Enjolras braces his arms around the shorter man’s waist. “Finally someone you recognise yeah?” Grantaire teases.

“Just because I don’t listen to your Antarctic Apes or Churches or whatever…” Enjolras mutters but he leans down to rest his forehead on Grantaire’s, the soothing music filling him with calm. His nose brushes against Grantaire’s cheek, and he presses a light kiss just below his eye. The music makes him sway together with the beat and his heart is beating so fast it feels like the night he confessed all over again. Shy embarrassment threatens to overtake him again, but Grantaire’s hands around his neck anchor him to the floor, and he does not want to be anywhere else but in his arms. 

He registers the chorus of the song, whispers the lyrics slightly into Grantaire’s ear as Ed Sheeran sings them. Underneath him, Grantaire shivers slightly. So in love, how perfectly apt.

“You’re dancing,” Grantaire notes, sneaking a kiss even as he sways together with Enjolras, hips and chest connected like they cannot bear to be apart. 

“Swaying,” states Enjolras, but he doesn’t stop his awkward little waltz, and Grantaire follows gladly. “There’s a difference.”

Grantaire’s eyes bore into his, a beautiful vibrant blue that contains multitudes. Like a… blue car. (Shut up, he’s no poet.) “This song reminds me of you.”

“Hm?” 

“Lumiere over me.” He sings in time with the song and unravels his arms from around Enjolras’ neck. He cups Enjolras’ cheeks. “You’re the light to my darkness, the sun to my night? No?”

Enjolras beams, raising his hands to cover Grantaire’s. His thumb brushes lightly against them. “Just as you are mine,” he says, voice serious but filled with tenderness and care.

Blushing heavily, Grantaire drops his hands, and buries his face into Enjolras’ shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.” 

“You do that all the time,” frowns Enjolras.

Grantaire sighs. “Yeah, but that’s me. You know I’m ridiculously in love with you.”

“And I’m not? It seems I’m not telling you enough then.” Enjolras says, lifting Grantaire’s chin. His heart feels like exploding, and the song in the background isn’t doing anything to help. “I love you. I love you. I’m so in love, so in love. With you.”

This makes Grantaire flush further and he shakes his head, as if he can’t believe this is really happening. “I love you too.”

No words can fully convey what Enjolras is feeling at the moment except that he is wondrously, blissfully happy. He feels winded, his body is alight and alive. It’s even better than when he comes back from a successful rally, spirits all pumped up. This is similar yet different. He could stay up all night, dancing together with Grantaire, and they won’t even need to do anything else and it will be enough.

The last of the song trails off. Enjolras grins so hard it is almost painful, and his eyes feel wet even as his heart trembles. He finally responds with another light kiss to Grantaire’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I tried to write smut but I failed so badly at writing the word dick in sexual situations that I just gave up. Sorry.
> 
> The song the Enjolras and Grantaire dance to, which I looped endlessly while writing the scene, is Ed Sheeran's [Tenerife Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27kdHu2gQQI).
> 
> Happy Valentine's and hope you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://drinktogaysgoneby.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
